


Horsemen, Apocalypses

by Freezer7



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, CHAPTER FOUR SPOILERS, Death Fic, Established Relationship, Grieving, M/M, gore tw, horsemen apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23991685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freezer7/pseuds/Freezer7
Summary: Sean’s head exploding from the impact of a bullet, Davey dying a slow death in the back of the wagon, Jenny’s body slowly freezing as they fled Blackwater, Boadicea being shot out from under him, arriving to find his son and Eliza's graves, all of Arthur’s own near death experiences, and nothing compared to the sheer and utter, gut-wrenching, nauseating horror of seeing that horse make its way into Shady Belle.
Relationships: Kieran Duffy/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Horsemen, Apocalypses

Sean’s head exploding from the impact of a bullet, Davey dying a slow death in the back of the wagon, Jenny’s body slowly freezing as they fled Blackwater, Boadicea being shot out from under him, arriving to find his son and Eliza's graves, all of Arthur’s own near death experiences, and nothing compared to the sheer and utter, gut-wrenching, nauseating horror of seeing that horse make its way into Shady Belle. 

Kieran,  _ his Kieran, Kieran, who he had seen not even a day ago, who he had kissed not even a day ago, who he had made love to not even a day ago,  _ tied into the saddle of an unfamiliar horse. His shoulders slumped, not unusual, but his neck was a severed stump. His head,  _ his head wasn’t attached to his body, it wasn’t on his body, it wasn’t-,  _ was set in is lap, in the clasp of his hands,  _ his hands which had left bruises on Arthur’s hips not even a day ago, that had left long scratches down his back, which had caressed his face right before they finished, had tangled in his hair, had- _

The cigar Arthur had been holding slips from his fingers, landing on the balcony with a soft thud. He can’t breathe. He can’t move. Can only watch the horse draw closer to the fountain. Can only distantly hear Mary-Beth scream, eyes transfixed on the body,  _ the body he can’t think of as Kieran, it couldn’t be, Arthur had  _ just  _ seen him, his Kieran was intact and whole and healthy and breathing and- _

Dutch shoves him down, hard. It barely registers. Arthur can’t feel his fingers, can’t feel his face. He can’t even feel the adrenaline hit his system, can only feel icy blood pouring through his body. Dutch is shaking him, and Arthur forces himself to respond, to drag his eyes up to meet Dutch’s. Dutch’s face is swimming around in his vision. Arthur is at the bottom of a lake, and Dutch is above the surface, voice garbled and incomprehensible. 

“Son, I need you to start shooting, goddamnit!” Dutch shoves Arthur’s own revolver into his numb hands, coming into sharp and sudden relief at the crack of a gunshot. Arthur stops thinking after that, throws himself into the familiar pattern of a shootout. He’s numb, doesn’t even think he would notice if he got shot now. 

At the end, there is one O’Driscoll left standing, and Arthur beats him to death. He had hunkered behind a cart off the road, hadn’t even tried to evade Arthur’s grappling. Arthur pins him, and swings his fist. Keeps swinging it, slamming his knuckles into the boy's face until it stops being a face, doesn’t stop swinging until someone drags him away. Doesn’t even realize that he is sobbing hysterically until someone tries to quiet him. 

They drag him into his room. He doesn’t help them get there, the use of his legs is lost to his grief, the ability to do anything other than let out keening sobs is gone. They set him onto his cot,  _ where he’d shown Kieran just how much he loved him, where he’d been unable to voice the actual words, _ and it smells like Kieran still,  _ horse sweat and hay dust, tinged slightly with the smell of sex and whiskey.  _

Someone sits by his bedside, Arthur is unable to discern anything but the vague surety of their presence. He falls asleep after what feels like years, his eyes running out of tears and his body too exhausted to do much more than hitch his breath on every inhale, with his nose pressed into the pillow. 

For once, his sleep is dreamless. He doesn’t know how long he sleeps for, only knowing that the world is light when he opens his eyes once more. Arthur’s sore as he rolls onto his back, and still bone tired. 

The grief hits him again, but it’s duller, throbbing. He stares at his cracking, mildewed ceiling and thinks of nothing. Continues thinking of nothing until someone comes in, cards their hands through his hair. He holds back a sob, immediately brought back into the sharp reality of his grieving with the touch. 

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” Hosea, of course it was Hosea, says quietly. Arthur can’t respond with anything other than another sob. 

Hosea lets him cry for a time, soothing him like he hadn’t done since Arthur was a child. When the light fled the room, though, he urged Arthur, who had fallen back into quiet shuddering, out of his room, and down to the table near the main campfire. 

He sat Arthur there with a bucket of water, and left him with the instructions to clean the blood from the O’Driscoll from his skin, while he went to get a bowl of stew. 

Arthur scrubbed at his hands thoughtlessly, rubbing at them until they were pink with irritation. He caught small glimpses of his reflection, and thought that he himself looked rather dead. His eyes were swollen heavily, and his face looked gaunt. 

The gang gave him a wide berth as he cleaned himself. Whether it was out of respect or disgust, Arthur couldn’t get himself to care. They were subdued, and any conversations were had at nearly a whisper. He pointedly didn’t look up, didn’t look towards where Ms. Grimshaw was standing over a table with Herr Strauss. He knew what he would see on the table, and was too much of a coward to face him. 

On the balcony, he’d been too far away from the body to see much detail. He’d seen many bodies, strangers, enemies, and friends alike. He’d seen his father's body, had seen Davey and Jennys, had seen the crater in the center of Seans head. He’d even seen bodies without heads, had caused a fair few of them himself. But even seeing Kieran from a distance had stirred more horror than Arthur had ever felt before. 

Hosea arrived back with a bowl of stew, and Arthur stared at it. The thought of eating anything turned his stomach. He pushed the spoon around, internally naming off the ingredients he spotted in the slop. Anything to stop from thinking about the body less than twenty feet away. 

He could feel it’s presence,  _ Kierans presence was a balm on his worn soul, gentle and stubborn and just what Arthur never realized he needed so badly,  _ and could almost picture Kierans eyes, _ Arthur had never really seen the sea, but when he tried to describe Kierans eyes in his journal, he called them a tender sea-green _ , milky with death, looking at him, boring into his back. 

Hosea was saying something when Arthur stood abruptly. He wouldn’t be a coward. He would see Kieran off in this way, would see what had been done to his lover, _would see just what_ exactly _he was going to do to Colm O’Driscoll_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Um.. sorry for the angst asdffgghk


End file.
